Mind of Gold
by Fatty Waffey
Summary: When men start disappearing without a trace and respawn doesn't do its job, it's a mad dash to get suitable replacements from anywhere and everywhere they can be found to fill the gaps. Even then, there's only a matter of time until the last class is replaced with metal. Slight AU, post Blood Brothers, pre MvM. Rating may go up later.
1. BLU Hijinks

I have no clue what I'm doing here, in the middle of Lord knows where. It had been a relatively normal morning at home, where I had naturally woken up around 7 am and grabbed a quick coffee from the kitchen before heading down to my shop across the street, just like any other day of the week. The place was an old bunker, seemingly abandoned to any passerby who were curious enough to stop and take a look. I liked keeping it quiet and unknown, similar to myself.

Only today it was obviously inhabited – the lit windows showed clear signs of life within. When I opened the door behind the building, I noticed the light at my workbench was still on and the radio's soft music filled the air. It was warm inside, something atypical before the sun had a chance to raise the previous night's temperature. I took a swig of coffee as I casually looked around for a few more moments. With my general assessment of the room completed, I had simply chalked it up to being tired last night, therefore lazy with my cleanup. That was my first mistake.

Anyway, I moseyed on in to my wonderful workshop, grabbed my goggles off of the hook on the wall and set my mug down to slip them over my eyes. I remember wondering about the news as I fiddled with the worn out straps, how the local Mann Co. corporation had recently fallen apart because of the deaths of two owners and what was to come of it. Interesting stuff, since nothing else really happens in the deserts of New Mexico. The only other notable stories were of a new Poopy Joe doll being sold, and a sudden recall in bread products due to a possible exposure to viruses in the factory. Supposedly the bread had tumors, which is where I stopped listening to the story.

At any rate, here's where things got stranger. After being satisfied that my eyesight would survive another day of staring at minuscule objects, I sat down on the old maple bench in front of my latest contraption, only to realize it wasn't where I had left it last night. Curiously enough, there was a small paper taped to the table in its place. I gently tore it from the smooth surface and held it close enough to read,

 _To a Ms. Louise Davies,_

 _Due to recent events, you and your particular skill set has become of interest to a potential employer. A quick sweep of your work is a testament to your worth. You seem to fit the bill as a qualified replacement engineer for Builders League United, asubsidiary of TF Industries. It would be wise to organize your tools and quick wit if you want the job. Regardless if you decide to prepare or not, someone will be at your workplace at 8 am sharp to take you for testing. Good luck, though luck willnot be a viable replacement for skill._

The note wasn't signed, which was strange, though at least it explained why the lights and radio were still on. I looked around at the various projects and parts lying around in cluttered organization while I digested the new information. Why would a gravel company become interested in a woman who, quite frankly, had no real job? My feeble income came from fixing the odd piece of equipment for the neighbors and those who knew of me through word of mouth every blue moon. Also, why would strangers go through my stuff?

I huffed aloud and set the letter back on the table. It was irritating that someone, dare I think that it was more than one person, went through my things. I felt violated. However, as I looked around, nothing else was really moved or stolen. Quite curious.

When I checked my watch, I was surprised to see that it was only ten 'til my escort allegedly would show. That gave me only a small window to collect what I would need. I wandered around, grabbing basic and obscure tools alike, since I figured that if I gathered my things or not, the Builders League United people would do as the letter foretold and force me to go with them anyway…

…Which is exactly what happened. Currently, I'm sitting on the passenger side of a pickup truck with a pretty young woman driving to what seems like nowhere. She's about fifteen years younger than me, with unruly black hair artfully tied back and cat-eye glasses resting on the tip of her nose. Initially she seemed as overwhelmed as me when she showed up four minutes past the hour, but I guess that time can be made up by ignoring all speed limit signs and basic drivers' etiquette. After a lengthy, borderline uncomfortable silence, the woman finally speaks.

"I know you have plenty of questions, Ms. Davies, most of which I can't answer due to the contract that now binds us both, but now's the time to ask." The woman glances at me and then into the rear view mirror. I'm kind of confused about how she knows my name, so I guess that's as good a starting place as any.

"How do you know my name, Ms..?" I trail off, unsure of her name. She only takes a second to reply.

"Pauling, Miss Pauling." She puts an emphasis on the 'Miss'. She continues without a pause, "As for you, I cannot tell you how we've come into possession of your information, but I can say that we've had it for a long time." Unsatisfying, but I guess that's the best answer I have so far. I look out the window to my right and watch the dust billow past as I think over what else is important enough to be asked. Turning to look forward again, I begin to ask my next question.

"Well," I begin, unsure of where I want to go, "what kind of…"

The engine's soft rumble fills the space as I trail off awkwardly, but Miss Pauling doesn't try to finish for me. I hesitate for another few seconds before trying to rephrase.

"What exactly is the test I have to take?" Miss Pauling makes a face.

"Your test, as it turns out, you won't actually be taking one. Something important has come up and what I saw earlier in your workshop was very impressive." She sends me an admiring glance. "We haven't had an engineer with your skill for quite some time. You should be proud of your work." Her voice is very matter-of-fact, as if she doesn't want any response or continued conversation on the topic. That's good, she's leaving me time to think about her words.

Nothing else is said for a majority of the ride, which is fine with me. Only when she makes a sharp left behind a wall of cacti is when she announces something peculiar.

"You're not like the last one I had to bring in, you're quiet and methodical. I respect all of our men here, but people are different in their roots. We start the same but we always end up in different places." She looks at me full in the face for a second, almost like she's searching for something.

"Are you where you thought you'd end up?" I ask suddenly. She smiles wryly and turns off the ignition.

"Perhaps," she responds shortly as she climbs out of the vehicle. I take that as my cue to get out too, so I gingerly slide down to the dusty desert floor. She waits for me to get closer before walking towards an opening in the cliff face we've parked next to. As I follow a few steps behind Miss Pauling, I take in the bland surroundings, a bit disappointed. Besides the cacti, there are no other plants around, and the only sign of animal life I've seen is a skeleton of a rodent, which we passed by earlier without a second glance. I frown softly as I think of the assorted collection of potted plants I left at home to inevitably die. Of course, I don't know that I won't be home again, but leaving town in the truck with Miss Pauling gave the whole trip a feel of solemn finality.

Said woman had slowed to a halt and I have to catch myself before walking into her back. She doesn't seem to take notice and holds out a dark purple slip of cloth approximately the size of a belt. I realize after a bout of awkwardness (where I didn't know if I should take it from her outstretched hand or not) that the item is a blindfold.

"Can you put this on? Confidentiality reasons." I raise my eyebrow, but comply and wrap the fabric around my head enough to the point that all I see is darkness. I can feel Miss Pauling tugging at the knot I made near my temple and then moving her hand to my left shoulder.

"I should've done this earlier, but after so many new recruits, you realize that no one knows where we are on the ride here anyway," the young woman explains while leading me through what I think is the cave. It's colder inside, and her voice echoes around us. It takes a few minutes of walking for me to realize that the floor is exceptionally smooth, probably to avoid tripping any new employees. It makes me wonder what kind of business has its employees walk around blind-folded to get to the workplace, whatever that'll be.

"We're almost there," Miss Pauling says while stopping me. "I'll be right back." Before I can protest, her hand leaves my shoulder and I can hear her footsteps fade back the way we starts to take hold of me and the urge to take off the blindfold is overwhelming. But I don't take it off, and Miss Pauling comes back quickly to take my shoulders again.

"Engineer, you may untie your blindfold," she says loudly. I figure she's talking to me, since I'm wearing a blindfold and our earlier conversations let me know that I would be an engineer of sorts for the company. I fumble with the knot for a moment before slipping the whole thing over my head, eyes wide open. I was ready for a view of the sand dunes or a nice pristine office, not what was in front of me. Of all the places in New Mexico, I'm currently standing in the middle of a cardgame  
being played by the weirdest group of office workers I have ever seen in my life.

 **a/n: Hello TF2 archive readers, it's nice to finally be an author here. This fic was initially meant to be a simple exercise to see where I lie (after 3 years of not /actually/ writing!), but I became inspired by Life of Py-ro by JayDeacats to finally get my head out of my ass and write my own story. It feels great! I hope you weren't too bored with the intro chapter, I'll try to update with another within the day. As always, I'd appreciate any feedback, good or bad.**

 **Cheers!**

 ** _Edit 6/10/16 - fixed really bad spacing errors to allow for a better reading experience. I'm sorry to those who suffered while trying to read!  
_**


	2. Meet the Medic

An intense staring contest between me and the many men sitting on various chairs around me ensues. Physically, they are obviously all of different builds and backgrounds. The man closest to me on the left is absolutely huge, dwarfing the chair under him (which seems ready to buckle at any given moment). He has a hard face with a closely shaven head, and his arms are as thick around as tree trucks, giving him the impression to be some sort of bodybuilder. His appearance greatly differs from the man sitting on a stool across the table from me wearing an eyepatch.

The man's dark skin greatly contrasts with the baby blue shirt he's wearing and- wait a second, is that a skirt!? My eyes widen and his single brown eye does the exact opposite. He stands and puts a hand on his hip like a teenage girl as he takes in my surprise.

"Aye lass, ye jealous of me kilt?" He grins and lets out a boisterous laugh, breaking the tense silence while creating a soft rumble as voices mingle together.

"Hey baldy, I saw you checkin' her out and I'm gonna say this once: she's mine," says a skinny man sitting in the corner behind the real life Incredible Hulk. The giant turns slightly toward the man who rudely addressed him.

"I do not know what tiny Scout means. She is too good for you anyway." The man, no, boy, called Scout bristles.

"You are _so_ gonna regret sayin' that fatty!" Not anticipating anything else interesting to come from that conversation, I turn my attention to a loud, helmet wearing guy. Unofficial-looking medals adorn the left breast of his jacket.

"…first communism, now _women_! You cannot make me work under such deplorable conditions!" he shouts in a gravelly voice.

"Good for ye Sol, ye finally said a big word!" The one eyed man responds with a laugh. The helmet wearer puffs out his chest proudly at his friend's praise.

"And I'll say it again: women!" he repeats louder than before.

"He meant the other word, mate," comments a tall, skinny man, leaning casually against the wall with a small grin gracing his lips.

"Communism!" shouts Helmet, still wrong but happy his words are being heard.

A rather loud sigh draws my attention to the other corner of the room. "Why must I be on the same team as zhese bumbling idiots…" I hear. My amused gaze lands on a masked man, and I watch him pull out a cigarette seemingly from nowhere. He ignores me, choosing instead to light his tobacco and fuss over his sleeve cuff.

As I look over the strange group, it occurs to me that Miss Pauling has been calling out over the sudden ruckus to try and regain order for quite some time. I can barely hear her though I'm right next to her. A terrifying thought hits me – is it always this way? If so, how can anyone think in this cacophony of nonsense? Judging by the looks of things, not many men do a whole lot of deep thinking around here anyway. A waste of intelligence, but not all thinkers are good people to befriend. At least there's hope that these people are trustworthy.

Miss Pauling eventually gives up on her quest for peace and quiet and opts instead to single one of the people out.

"Pyro!" she calls, catching the attention of a person fully-suited for firefighting, wearing a gasmask. They walk over and stop in front of us, staring through the unsettling tinted eye holes. They cheerfully wave at me and I hesitantly smile back.

"Engineer, I'm sorry that the men couldn't behave long enough for your introduction, but Pyro will be your guide for now." Miss Pauling looks at the suited figure. "I trust you can show her around. If you need me, I'll find you two." The woman smiles at me and turns to walk away, but pauses for a second.

"Don't worry about a thing, Ms. Davies," she whispers softly, "you'll understand what's going on here pretty soon. Remember what I said before and you'll do just fine." The woman gives a quick, half-hearted smile before resuming her departure. Striding away as if nothing had happened, Miss Pauling disappears from my view and leaves me with the stranger called Pyro.

"Hello," I begin strongly, not wanting to show my nerves. Besides, why be rude to someone I've just met?

There is no response from the masked figure, only simple gestures to follow them. I comply and am led up a short set of stairs into a hallway with many doors on one side. We pass all of them and I notice that though they may look similar, the doors each have a name inscribed into the smooth cedar. The first one we pass is labeled _Scout_ , followed by a hastily scribbled _Soldier_ , and then an artfully penned _Pyro_. We pass two more, marked _Demoman_ and _Heavy_ respectively, before stopping in front of a blank one.

I look at my companion questioningly, and they open the door for me. Inside lies a treasure trove I could never possibly dream of.

The bedroom basics are all there, a standard bed, adorned in sky blue sheets and comforter with a decently sized window above it, letting in the warm early afternoon sun, and a desk-dresser combo against the wall at the foot of the bed. What catches my eye are the walls on both sides, lined with boxes and boxes of overflowing tools and parts meant to be fiddled with. All sorts of building materials – woods, metals, plastics, glass, you name it – were on the left side, along with the necessary implement to bond and form whatever the heart desires.

On the right, the boxes are more orderly and some even have labels. When I walk closer to get a better look, I notice that one box is specifically for blueprints of many objects; automated machines, different kinds of weapons, and even toysare drawn out on paper. I don't get to look much into other boxes, since Pyro taps me on the shoulder and points to the door. Despite my disappointment, at least I can explore my new collection later.

The Pyro takes me back the way we came and beyond the now empty room where I first met the rest of the gang. I'm curious where they've all disappeared to, but I don't bother asking. This tour guide hasn't spoken a word yet, however I'm actually more comfortable around them than I had initially anticipated.

Once we reach our destination, the Pyro turns to me and pats me on the arm in a friendly fashion before ushering me through another door. This time the door is cold metal, not wood. Inside is what looks to be a doctor's office, strongly smelling of antiseptic and looking too pristine to be considered a comfortable environment. A man I didn't see earlier in the day is sitting off to the side, behind a cluttered desk with papers and lab equipment scattered everywhere. He almost doesn't notice us, until the Pyro loudly shuts the door. He starts and looks around wildly before locating us across the room.

"Ah, I see you've brought ze Fräulein to see me at last," the man comments as he appraises me like a hunk of meat. I frown, but try to keep a cordial tone with the potential ally.

"Hello, Mr..?"

"Medic," he finishes for me and stands up. "Ve don't go by surnames here, only our jobs. I am zhe current medical professional in zhis base, und you are zhe Engineer, ja?"

"Uh, yes, I am I suppose," I say, "though I'm not really sure what that job title requires me to do around here." Medic approaches me with an air of mild interest, wheeling along an already prepared cart of syringes and medical tools.

"Vell," he starts, "I am not an engineer myself, but I can tell you zhe basics." He looks at me and holds out an open palm. "Your hand, fräulein."

I cautiously stretch my arm towards him and set the back of my hand in his palm. _"_ What's this for?" I ask him, wary of the many needles that seemed ready to be used to suck out all of my blood. Okay, that's a little overdramatic, but still a scary possibility.

He quirks an eyebrow. "You need to have your respawn chip implanted in order for you to come back."

"Come back from where, exactly?" I question. The doctor grins as he picks up one of the larger needles.

"Zhe dead, of course," he states, and then guffaws, as if it's the most humorous thing he's ever said. "You may feel a pinch und a burning sensation," he continues after a second of regaining his composure. "Zhat is normal for zhis procedure. Anyvay…" he sticks the needle into the crook of my elbow and presses the plunger down as he begins explaining my job. As if I can even concentrate on him, my arm immediately erupts into a flame and my blood evaporates. Then the sensation is gone in a skirt second and everything becomes cold, like I've been dropped into arctic waters. I involuntarily shiver and stare at the Medic, wondering just what the hell was in that syringe. He doesn't look at me while he continues to talk, only stopping to ask a question.

"How do you feel, Fräulein? Any hypersensitivity at all?" He eagerly searches my pained expression for an obvious answer, and I can only bite out a single response.

"I thought you said you were a doctor." Gradually, everything fades to black and my body goes slack. At least I can't feel anything anymore.

When I wake up, I'm lying on a cot behind a curtain, still in the medical bay judging by the heart monitor that I'm attached to. I look around and am startled by the gasmask-d face at my bedside. A small wave hello from the Pyro relaxes my frayed nerves and sets my mind into motion. The curtain is pulled back and the Medic's head pops into view.

"Oh, Pyro," he starts to chastise, "you said you'd tell me vhen our Engineer came back." He laughs loudly again, and the Pyro shrugs, unfazed by the apparent one-sided humor.

He walks around the curtain to stand over me on the opposite side of the bed as Pyro. "I'm glad to see zhat it only took you six hours to get to zhe land of zhe living again. Last one took eleven in a half." He taps the heart monitor and sighs, waiting for me to say something.

"Oh, I was just repeating chemical names und solutions; I knew you couldn't understand me anyway, no one ever does after zhe injection." He gives me a wicked smile. "I don't know a thing about an Engineer's job. I just vanted to see how long you vould try to stay after killing you." I narrow my eyes as he laughs. Who does this nut think he is!? As I go to rip off the heart monitor, Pyro stops me with a gentle hand and, as I look at them, they shake their head.

Medic wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. "It's getting to be a good thing zhat you've joined us, Ms. Davies." I freeze at his casual use of my name. "People like you never cease to humor me."

"Why does everybody seem to know me!?" I shout, exasperated. Nothing is making sense around here, least of all this 'medical professional' and his ability to do as he pleases. He just killed me and acts like it's a regular Tuesday afternoon occurrence! In a fit of anger, I ignore the Pyro and tear off the dainty heart monitor wires. I hastily swing my legs over the side of the bed and move to get up, but am stopped by a sudden lightheadedness.

"Ah, ah, ah," scolds the Medic, briskly moving to my side and extending his arm out in front of me. "You vill be staying vith me in ze medical bay so I can monitor you easily. Zhere is a possibility zhat you may suffer some, ah, _unfavorable_ side effects of your new ability to respawn." He pauses dramatically and looks at the Pyro. They, in turn, nod and stand to leave. It's strange, the most suspicious character I've met all day is the one I trust the most out. It only takes them a moment to disappear behind the curtain and I can hear the soft clang of the metal door close.

Medic turns to me and sighs. "You know," he says calmly, "I'm not trying to be rude. You do need to rest for tomorrow, zhough. I vill vake you vhen it is time. Gute Nacht, Engineer."

He goes to pat my shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and freezes before touching me. Abruptly, he turns on his heels and begins the short walk out of my view. I glare daggers at him as he leaves. Mood swings, much? And of course he doesn't give me any time to ask questions.

I roll my eyes and try to make myself comfortable on the lumpy mattress, which I quickly realize is a lost cause. When sleep does finally take me, I can hear soft classical music and humming. My mind is filled with thoughts of dying plants and how much more I liked Miss Pauling than the pretender in a lab coat.

 **a/n: Again, I'm sorry for anyone who read the previous chapter before the fix. But, how's chapter two? I'm actually quite happy with this so far, and it gives me hope that I will continue to write. I see over 15 hits for my first chapter, which is even more than I can ask for. Thank you, whoever is reading this right now. You make writing this worth it!**

 **Cheers!**


	3. Every Story Has a Beginning

**a/n: Thank you for following, wishindo!  
**

I can feel a gentle nudge against my arm as I begin to come to. My first thought is that it's my cat, Beatrice, wanting to be fed or let outside to roam the backyard. A typical occurrence in the morning, I brush her off gently.

"Give me five more minutes, kitty," I mumble under my breath. There's a moment of quiet before I feel the nudge again, this time more insistent.

"Engineer, it is time to go," someone says to me. It takes a second for the voice to register, and it brings back unpleasant memories of yesterday. I groan internally at the Medic while cracking an eye open to look at him. He's wearing the same thing as what I previously saw him in, I notice, the only difference being a large pack on his back. He looks down at me with mild irritation. "Ve must vake the rest of ze team," he says, using a gloved index finger to push up his glasses. I simply stare at him, still trying to wake up. He sighs, but doesn't relent. "If you do not get up in 10 seconds, I vill dump you from zhis bed. Not a good start to your first day on zhe job."

I groan loudly and roll off of the cot, catching myself on the side with one hand and rubbing my eyes with the other. The Medic smiles dryly at my grogginess.

"Zhat's better, yes?" I raise an eyebrow at him and he holds my gaze for a moment. I decide to give a small shrug in response. "Gut, now for vaking our comrades." Medic moves beyond the curtain and I follow a few steps behind, taking in our surroundings. In addition to the regular doctor's office supplies there are many machines that look more advanced, similar to what a national hospital may have.

I squint as I try to make out individual parts on each machine, feeling uncomfortable when I realize that I'm missing my goggles. "Hey, Medic," I call, grabbing his attention from a paper he's reading.

"Yes?"

"Do you by chance have my, uh, goggles? I had them on yesterday when I came." I watch as he sets the paper down and moves to grab something from behind the curtain where I slept.

"Here," he says while, sure enough, holding out my goggles. "You are a troubled sleeper, und I didn't think your mood would improve upon finding them broken."

I'm unsure of how to respond, so I settle with an embarrassed, "Thanks…" I feel kind of bad for being rude to him, but yesterday was kind of an off day. Either way, maybe an apology is due. "I'm-"

"Zhink nozing of it, Fräulein." He fixes his glasses again. "Shall ve go introduce you now?" I nod shortly in response, and we walk to the door. He opens it for me to go through, closing the door with a soft clang.

Medic leads me down the hallway and into the room where everyone had been gathered yesterday. I can conclude that it is their version of a small kitchen by taking a look around. Cabinets hang above a sink, and a refrigerator is flush against the adjoining wall. Pyro is there waiting for us, and my spirits immediately lift at seeing them. I walk over to sit down at the small table placed in the middle of the room.

"Hey Pyro, sleep well?" I greet warmly. They cock their head to the side and stroke their gasmask, feigning thinking. I don't make much more of a conversation, and there is comfort in the silence between us. I appreciate the company that Pyro provides; it's been a long time since I was around a friend who could appreciate the quiet.

Our peace is interrupted when I can hear footsteps approaching us. The loud strides make it almost to the room, then abruptly stop at the doorway. I look over and see the kid called Scout leaning against the doorframe with a Cheshire Cat grin, arms crossed.

"Hey there, babe," he drawls, "you may be older and less attractive den me, but I gotta say, you're lucky to have the chance ta meet a guy that can blow your mind. If ya get what I mean, of course." He says with a wink and a cocky grin, as if that is supposed to be impressive. Instead of being offended (which is probably an appropriate response), I can't help but laugh. This kid can't be more than 20, and he's hitting on me like I'm his friend's older sister!

"Thanks," I breathe airily, watching his expression change from cocky to hopeful. "But no thanks, I'm not that lonely." He looks crestfallen for a second before shrugging and walking to the fridge and pulling out a can of soda. He drinks the whole thing in a blink and smashes the now empty can on his head before throwing it into the waste bin under the sink. I quirk an eyebrow at his early morning hyperactivity. Even for me, as someone who enjoys waking with the sunrise, this is strange. He winks once again at me before leaving as fast as he came. I notice that Medic also didn't stick around too long after bringing me here, which is fine. He isn't much of a socialite, but who am I to judge?

Voices accompany more footfalls after a couple more minutes, coming from the same hallway that Scout appeared. I can make out some of the conversation as they get closer.

"Ye can't just do that kind o' thing, Sol! It's against the bloody contract!" says one guy.

"I won those heads fair and square, you one-eyed Irishwoman! I'm keeping them!" responds the other. Wait, did he just say Heads!?

The owners of the two voices walk into view. "I'm not even Irish, you halfwit. Scotland is me home!" finishes the kilt guy from yesterday. He's talking to Helmet, and surprisingly neither of them acknowledge my presence at the table at first. They continue to bicker the way only old friends can.

When Helmet finally turns in my direction, presumably to pout about the other man's words, I can't help but be amused by the shock on his stubbly face. "The communist woman is back!" he shouts while standing and pointing an accusative finger in my direction. "She's a RED in disguise! Don't trust anyone, Irish maggot, or you'll be next!"

"Calm down Sol, she's on our side." The Scotsman lays a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder and addresses me with a friendly, "Hello again, lass. Soory about yesterday." He beams at me while Helmet tries to pry off his grip.

"Don't worry about it," I say, waving off his apology. He seems like an easily likable man, judging by the way he doesn't dither over a simple apology, and his apparent friendship with a man as standoffish as a cactus.

"So, ye must be our new Engineer," he continues casually. I give a small hum of agreement at his statement as he goes on. "Well, I'm the Demoman here, and the best bloody Demoman they've got." He winks, and I can't help but grin. "This here," he pats Helmets shoulder, "is our Soldier."

I nod at him. "Hello, Soldier." The man in turn looks at Demoman, who pats him reassuringly on the back, and then back at me.

"Welcome, maggot." He gives me a salute which seems wrong, but I accept his greeting anyway. Ignoring me then, he goes to a cupboard and grabs a box before sitting on the other side of Demoman in the furthest seat from me. Tearing into the box, he grabs a handful of cereal and eat it without a care for manners. Judging from his earlier behavior, I figure that this is a decently normal occurrence.

"Do ye know what you're doin' today?" the Scotsman asks, bringing me out of my intense Soldier-watching.

"Not really," I answer honestly. No point in trying to hide my cluelessness anyway.

"Well," he begins, pulling out a dark bottle from under the table and taking a swig from it, "ye build contraptions called dispensers with to help resupply us when we need more ammo, teleporters too. Helps us ta get to the front lines quick." He gestures at me with the bottle. "Ye seem like a smart lass, you'll see when ye get there." I nod politely, trying not to show my confusion. A dispenser is easy enough to understand, but what's the ammo for? And just how am I supposed to build a working 'teleporter' when I'm not exactly sure what one does?

"Oh, I forgot to mention to ye, the most important thing an Engineer can build is his own sentry," he grins at me in a knowing way. "Wait til' ye kill yer first RED with it, nothing like the experience," he finishes with a chuckle and nudges Soldier next to him, who starts to laugh too.

"I do no know what we're laughing about!" he shouts gleefully, flinging cereal everywhere. This time I can't help but let my jaw go slack and stare.

"You…" I struggle to find my words, not really knowing how to respond. Demo notices, and immediately stops smiling. Soldier quickly follows suit, through still shoves cereal into his face.

"Are ye okay, lass?" He asks, his brown eye squinting in worry. I open and close my mouth several times and see his expression change from curious to concerned. "Do ye need somethin'?" he asks quickly. Before he even let's me respond, he pushing back his chair. "Medic!" he shouts while getting up. "It'll be fine, jus' relax," he says while trying to calm me. I can't breathe and I hear an awful gasping noise that I assume is me. I can feel Pyro's hands against my back, holding me up. "Bloody eejit," he says under his breath before shouting for Medic again.

I gasp loudly and grasp Demo's hand. He locks his eye onto mine and I can feel darkness creeping into the edges of my vision. Demo's voice is muffled when he repeats, "You'll be okay, jus' relax," over and over again. It's all I can focus on, and it feels like hours are passing by. I'll be fine, just gotta relax and everything will get better.

I notice the Scotsman break eye contact with me to look over my head. Relief passes over his features, but his grip on my hand doesn't loosen.

"I can take her from here," says Medic, moving into my view and kneeling at my side. "Engineer, can you look at me?" he asks calmly, cautiously laying a hand on my arm and gripping the table behind me. Slowly I turn my head, still struggling to get a decent breath in. Medic is completely professional, without any emotion showing. "Zhat's it, Fräulein. I vant you to stop and breathe vith me, alright?" He looks at me and waits for me before taking a slow, deep breath. I try my best to do the same, feeling my trembling breaths beginning to fill my chest every inhale. I notice in the midst of it all that he has extremely blue eyes, the kind that any young southern blonde I know would kill for. _Kill_ , I think. What an insane proposition for someone to do. Of course I wouldn't murder in cold blood like a crazy person. A thought hits me – if killing was this group's job, by my logic, that would mean that they're all lunatics. And somehow I can't bring myself to completely believe that.

After another minute of synchronized respiration, my heart rate and breathing is almost back to normal. Medic gives me a soft smile and nod, removing his hand from my arm while standing up. "Better?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I rasp out, giving him an appreciative nod. I take a quick look around the now crowded room. It seems that I've gathered quite a crowd, including the Scout and the masked smoker, whom I didn't catch the name of before. No matter, I'm sure I'll learn it later. Right now there are more glaring issues I need to address.

I clear my throat before starting. "So," I begin shakily while looking each man in the face pointedly. "You're hired to kill people?" Not a moment of silence passes after the words leave my lips.

"Hell yeah sistah!" Scout immediately bursts. "Killin' REDs is the best-" He's quickly cut off by Smoker's hand over his mouth. Giving me a look of complete disinterest, he provides me with his own answer.

"In short, oui, we kill people," he says without feeling. I frown at his coldheartedness. "But," he continues, "as these people die, like us, they come back to fight again, perfectly new. Killing them is not an issue to worry over." Everyone looks expectantly at me after he finishes, probably waiting for another ( _extremely_ mortifying) episode of how killing is wrong and that I refuse to do it.

Though, as much as I disagree with it, I choose to defy their hopes of a show. "Alright," I say and stand up. I hear Pyro do the same and move to my side. "I suppose that makes more sense. I won't like it, but if I'm supposed to perform my job right I'll need some blueprints for everything." It could be my imagination, but the room seems to give a collective sigh of relief. The atmosphere feels a million times lighter, and people start moving again. There's talking, a pair or two of men arguing, and food is being passed around. It's almost as if the past ten minutes never happened, which I'm extremely grateful for.

Someone suddenly hands me a small gray box with buttons on it, interrupting my thoughts. I notice that it's Pyro after a moment's confusion. "Uh, thanks..?" I say awkwardly, tapping one of the buttons experimentally. A code pops up on the tiny screen as well as a diagram. Lights go off in my head when I read the short description. "So this'll keep all of my new items in one place?" I ask, gaining an enthusiastic nod in response. "Thanks, Pyro," I say, happy that I can finally get something moving in the right direction.

An obnoxiously loud alarm goes off, and the room begins to shift. People begin to file out the two doorways and Pyro grabs my wrist to lead me along. I follow the rest of the group out into the early morning sun, and then into the back of a pale blue box truck. A bench lines both walls, and the men in from of me sit as they file in. I'm on the end of my row with Pyro next to me, happily swinging their feet as the back door bangs shut. The silence is deafening in the dimly lit room, no one seeming too interested in breaking it. My nerves make the world seems ready to fall apart under my feet.

After a quick ride to wherever, the back door automatically opens. Pyro nudges me out and into a new building, simpler than the one we had just come from. There's a locker with bullets of many shapes and sizes as well as a couple heavy-duty first aid kits. A couple of cluttered tables complete the look. As we fill the space, a voice near my ear startles me.

"You vill do alright as long as you don't die too much," Medic says, and I realize that he's being serious. I notice he is busy filling a gun with a chamber which rotates, shooting what seems to be empty syringes as bullets. The most disturbing part is that isn't the weirdest thing I've experienced today. "If you feel overvhelmed like before, remember to breathe. I can come find you if I am close enough, but try not depend on anyone," he says to me. I hold onto his words like a life preserver. "Gut," he finishes loading with a glance at me. I give him a hesitant smile, which he reciprocates. "Oh, you are missing some zhings," he notices and walks over to a cubby hanging on the wall. Setting his gun down to pick up two more, he hurries back over. "Here," he hands me a shotgun and a pistol. "You may need zhese. Also," a worn wrench appears in his hands. "Zhis is yours."

I take the wrench appreciatively, almost dropping it when a woman's voice blares, "Mission begins in sixty seconds." Everyone seems to pause at her words. Grabbing their weapons, I follow as they line up near the metal chain mail door leading to what I know is a battlefield. Encouragements come from almost everyone, even Pyro (who gives me a high-five), but I can't help but be a bundle of nerves at the prospect of dying repeatedly. _Killing_ repeatedly. I shake my head slightly and exhale shakily. The rest of the countdown comes too soon for my liking.

"Three, two, _one_ -" the doors open and a siren blares in the background. Shouts from my teammates surround me as my first day on the job officially begins.

 **a/n: Well, after editing the crap out of this for two days, I feel like it's as presentable as it's going to get. 2,870 words later and I still don't care much for the pacing of this, but a good friend once told me to write what makes me happy and not to worry over others' opinions. But you know exactly what I want – your opinions! I hope you enjoyed, but how am I supposed to know if no one ever tells me? ;)**

 **Cheers!**


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